For Duty
by evalanis
Summary: A different interpretation to the reasons behind Gonerill's actions throughout King Lear. One-shot.


**Disclaimer – **The characters belong to William Shakespeare, and not me.

**Note – **This is a **'resistant' **writing of Gonerill's character. She is not meant to be portrayed in the greedy and ambitious light that she normally is. This is my attempt to look at another possible side of Gonerill's character, that of a loving and dutiful daughter. To this Gonerill, duty is the most important thing in her life.

Hope that you enjoy. Comments and constructive criticism are more than welcome.

* * *

Everything was falling apart. Gonerill stormed up to the red tent and roughly ripped back the flap, entering in a flurry of velvet and lace. Dismissing those attendants who had followed her, she raged about the spacious tent before falling defeated upon her case, desperately trying to calm herself.

Outside, she could hear the sound of men returning from battle, but here she was inside her own kingdom, and the life of war far distant. Seated on her travelling chest, it was easy for Gonerill to imagine that she was surrounded by the graceful lords and ladies of the court instead of the awkward soldiers of the army. That she stood by her younger sisters and watched as their father ascended the steps to his throne. It was all so easy to imagine, but impossible to believe. Ambition had devoured the court from the inside, leaving it at the mercy of scavengers.

At times in the past months she had wished only that all would return to the days when her father had been a respected ruler, but then she would remember the duty she owed not only to him, but to her country. The duty which she would fulfil when she ascended those same steps as he once had and was proclaimed Queen.

Fate, however, had deemed her fortune to be otherwise directed, for despite months of war and toil, she was seated not on the throne of the monarch, surrounded by those loyal members of her court, but alone on a wooden travelling chest. For months she had striven to obediently follow the commands of her duty, but now Gonerill realised that it was not to be. Everything had gone awry.

* * *

Her arm was resting on her husband's as they proudly entered the throne room behind King Lear. Although she was as yet unaware of the reasons for their summoning, the ever-faithful Oswald had informed her of the spread of rumours concerning the succession of the throne. Her heart fluttered furiously in anticipation as her father ordered the Earl of Gloucester to bring into his presence the lords France and Burgundy.

Gonerill stared in shock as she heard her father proclaim unto all his intent to divide the kingdom and release himself from the burdens of kingship. She had never imagined that such a thing would be possible, but the King was calling her to speak, to prove her love for him that her portion of the kingdom would be secured.

She knew a moment of indecision and paused, desperately trying to think of words that would not only convey to her father the depth of her feelings, but would also be within the propriety of the court. The words she spoke, courtly in their phrasing, were not what she would have said had she been granted time to contemplate her answer, but Gonerill hoped that her father would understand what they truly meant despite their extravagance. Her words, excessive as they sounded to her own ears, were rewarded when her father spoke once more, granting her the regency over a third of the bounteous kingdom.

As her lord father spoke, she caught Regan's calculating eye and felt a shiver of foreboding run down her spine. Always this sister had been the more competitive and ambitious of the three, and Gonerill now feared what Regan might do when offered such an abundant sample of what would be hers if she ever ascended the throne. That was not her only fear however. Cordelia had ever been a rebellious child, certain of her place in their father's affection, and as Gonerill glanced across the hall at her youngest sister, she noted the familiar glint of confident defiance in the calm blue eyes, instinctively understanding that trouble was not far away.

Her worries were realised when Cordelia, commanded to prove her obedience and love of their father before the court, refused to speak. Of all the insolent things that Cordelia had ever done, this shaming of their father and King was the worst! Gonerill would have stepped forward to put her confident youngest sister in her rightful place if she had not once again met Regan's eyes. _Wait_, they told her, _for this will play out as it must_. Not understanding, but knowing the danger of challenging Lear's authority in speaking out, Gonerill subsided, watching in thinly suppressed horror as the dramatic turn of events proceeded.

* * *

As Regan passed haughtily out of the chamber, Gonerill sagged to the floor, her anger and disbelief at the recent turn of events at last overcoming her. Hanging her head in her hands, she desperately tried to understand what had motivated Cordelia to defy their father in such a way, completely abandoning her duty for no clear purpose.

Since their youth, they had been taught the importance of duty. Duty to their father and King, duty to their country and later their duty to their husbands. Now, in one single act of defiance, Cordelia had betrayed her duty to both Lear and the country which had served them all so well. In her denial of a daughter's obedience to her father, and a subject's duty to the King, Cordelia was deserving of the banishment that their father had meted out to her.

Composing her features, Gonerill raised herself from her prostrate position and swiftly left the hall in search of her father. It was time to show him that not all of his daughters had forgotten the duty and loyalty which they owed him.

* * *

Gonerill slowly raised herself from the wooden chest, wiping away the memory and evidence of her distress as she did so. She had wanted only to care for her father in his ageing years, as he had cared for her when she was but a child. She had sought to protect him from the unruly wilfulness he had developed as he had aged, but his own persistence in retaining the authority he had wielded in his youth had led to their parting.

Lear, she realised, had distanced himself from her almost at the very beginning, driving the two of them irreconcilably apart through his refusal to submit to the authority which he himself had bestowed upon her. That, however, she had been able to bear as she had considered it the duty of a daughter to humour her parent in his senility, allowing him concessions in his behaviour and mannerisms. What she had not been able to tolerate was the lack of respect that his men had displayed to both herself and the King.

And so it was that she had, somewhat foolishly perhaps, attempted to confront Lear about the insolence of those men who followed him…

* * *

The King had only been in residence at her home for six days, and yet she already found the company and ribald actions of his men to be insufferable. In offering to shelter him and his hundred knights for a month, Gonerill had hoped that she would be able to secure her place in his heart. That she may help him to forget the loss of Cordelia.

Striding down the halls of her home, Gonerill seethed with fury at the actions of her guests and their treatment of not only herself but also of those who served her. She had been roused from her rest to receive yet another complaint about the knights who had accompanied the King, and had decided that it was now well past the time that she should confront her father about his lack of control over those who served him.

Expecting to house the revered King whom she had always known, she had soon found that instead she had been charged with the care of a man whose behaviour had proved to be as poor as a child's. Not only was Lear's own behaviour intolerable, constantly fluctuating between the unruly and the commanding, but that of his men had transformed her once orderly home into something akin to a riotous brothel or tavern. Enough, she had decided, was more than enough.

Reaching the courtyard, Gonerill steeled herself before stepping forth into her father's domain.

* * *

She had attempted to alert him to the atrocious behaviour of his men. Had hoped to at last find in him the ally she needed. Instead that all-licensed fool of his had undermined her with his talk of cuckoos and hedge-sparrows, confusing the old King with his words. She had sought to appeal to her father's wisdom, to the man who had been greatly respected by all whom he encountered. The King who had held power over all others.

Instead she had encountered the childish behaviour of a man whose mind had long left him. Gone now was the power of the King, replaced by the petulant arrogance of age. Gonerill fought back the loss she felt at the recognition that her father would no longer hold the respect of those around him.

Already the respect that she, his most obedient of daughters, had owed him had been tarnished. He had insulted her, cursed her, undermined her in front of his men. And now Albany, too, questioned her wisdom in approaching Lear about his knights. He had said that she feared too much, Gonerill believed that she did not fear enough. She dreaded the repercussions of her father's outburst.

Lear had hurt her as no other had. He had ruthlessly cast aside the respect and love that she had given him. But yet she was consoled in the knowledge that she had at last recognised her true duty. Not only would she serve her country, but also her father, becoming what he had always no doubt dreamed she would one day be. She would be Queen.

* * *

She knew now that her father would never have listened to her. Loved she may have been as a child, but she had forgotten in her anger that he was still King in mind if not in power. Lear had been raised to be a king, and so he had been all of his life. In alerting him to the riotous behaviour of his nights, she had challenged his authority, something he had never tolerated.

Stepping up to her looking glass, Gonerill contemplated the ruined mess of her dreams. Through the folly of her own actions she had at last come to understand her father's desolations at Cordelia's betrayal. He had always loved her most. Loved her for the similarities which she bore to their long-lost mother, and for the fierceness of her spirit.

Gonerill well knew now what it meant to succumb to another's passion, as the great King had to their mother. She sighed, her mind turning to that most recent betrayal. She did not regret her actions, as she knew that each of them had been necessary. Rather, she regretted her recklessness in being seduced by the Earl and her inability to keep him from straying. Examining her withering beauty in the mirror, Gonerill allowed her thoughts to take her back yet again to the moment where she had allowed herself to forget her duty.

* * *

She felt the shivering fire of his eyes upon her. Gonerill had initially relished this chance to get to know the newly instated Earl of Gloucester, but now she was not so sure. Edmund had acknowledged the power that she wielded as one of the rulers of the country from the first, and had treated her accordingly at all times. But always she had felt the intruding power of his sexuality, though he had never given her a reason to doubt his intentions. Until now. Now she felt the defiance of his glance, but could not bring herself to admonish the handsome man seated across from her.

Gonerill was in a turmoil. For although she knew what her heart and body desired, her mind insisted on reminding her of her duty to not only her husband, but her country. Even seated across from the handsome Earl, Albany and the country's plight were not far from her mind.

Momentarily forgetting the man before her, Gonerill slipped into those musings which now occupied her mind so frequently and thoroughly. The elderly Gloucester's betrayal had complicated matters, as had the disappearance of her father. She feared now that she had been too rash in leaving him to learn from his mistakes and was aware of how unsympathetic her actions must have appeared to others.

She was startled out of her reverie by the soft brush of a hand against hers where it lay on the table. Looking up, she glanced directly into Edmund's dark eyes. Immediately their depth consumed her, stripping her of her name and her title, leaving her only a woman lusted after by a man. Clearly, he must have seen something change in her gaze, for he smirked and, raising his goblet to her lips, whispered of her loveliness in the light of the flames.

Gonerill smiled in return and drank deeply from the goblet in front of her, her eyes not leaving his for a moment.

* * *

He had seduced her with his glance and talk of his childhood and his dreams. What he had always wished to achieve had become her soul purpose in life. Edmund's passion had driven her to forget her own desires, and the duty which she owed, but she had not cared. If he could have been hers, Gonerill would gladly have forsaken all.

Her willingness to relinquish all, however, he had not shared. Having used her to her full purpose, he had then moved on to one more advantageous than she. Gonerill felt the bitterness rise like bile in her throat as she thought of her sister's and Edmund's betrayal of her. It was that bitterness, the irrational anger she had felt at learning of Regan's intention and Edmund's betrayal that had led her to the death of her sister.

She had loved Edmund with all of her being, had been willing to sacrifice her honour and even forget her duty just to be with him. The knowledge that he had not been willing to do the same had angered her beyond reason. She had not cared who it was that had taken Edmund from her, only that they pay as her duty to her love demanded.

But now, with Regan consumed by the poison in her blood, Gonerill understood at last that the end had come. It had all been leading up to this moment. Lear's decision and Cordelia's banishment, their anger at one another, her betrayal of her duty with Edmund, at last the murder of her sister at her own hands. They had all moved as Fortune and Fate had dictated.

With the knowledge of Edmund and Regan's treachery had come the understanding of what she had truly done. Always Gonerill had placed a high value in the duties which she had been taught at such a young age. Before all else she had placed obedience, deference, and duty. In succumbing to Edmund, she had abandoned one of the most sacred duties of all: her duty to her husband. She felt shattered at the realisation of her true betrayal. The betrayal of herself and all that she had ever stood for.

Seated now at her writing desk, Gonerill calmly and resolutely wrote of her sins. Shamelessly telling all of her actions and the wrong she had done so many in her belief that the fulfilment of her duty was all that mattered. It was no longer important what they thought of her, they could no longer touch her.

For here she was inside her own kingdom. Seated in her high-backed chair, it was so easy to imagine that she sat on the throne where once her father had been respected. But she knew now that it was not to be. The rage that had consumed her had abruptly dissipated, leaving her desolate in her grief and isolation.

Making up her mind, Gonerill reached for her lord husband's dagger where he had left it earlier that morning in his hurry. Kneeling on the floor, her skirts falling gracefully about her, she steadied her hand on the rough hilt of the weapon before closing her eyes in prayer. Dimly she heard the shouts of men, but cast it to the back of her mind as only the victory celebration taking place outside her tent.

Closing her eyes, she placed the point of the dagger at her breast, a drop of red blood forming where the sharp edge pierced her flesh.

'For duty', she whispered.


End file.
